


Flowers Fade, But The Internet Lasts Forever

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ....... it's Complicated lmao, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Pining Clarke, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:44:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12306393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "We just think it would be good for you to talk about it," Monty says. "You know,openly.Instead of just ranting on your private Twitter account twelve times a day.""What the fuck is wrong with ranting on my private Twitter account," Clarke mutters defensively.Raven merely shrugs. "Don't look at me. I'm just here because Monty said drinks are on him."Or, the one where Clarke finds out the hard way that having two separate Twitter accounts and a hopeless crush on Bellamy Blake don't exactly mix.





	Flowers Fade, But The Internet Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this tweet of mine](https://twitter.com/mellamymake/status/916103872527032320) and an ensuing conversation with a few other ~~enablers~~ friends

 

 

It's probably a weird thing to claim, but Clarke's never had to deal with unrequited affection before.

 

She's barely even had to deal with _crushes,_ really. Not to sound like an arrogant bitch or anything, but she usually lands up being the one people crush _on._ That's how pretty much all her past relationships always began. A person asks her out or confesses an attraction, and _then_ she decides whether she reciprocates or not.

 

It's her general mode of operation, but certainly not a _conscious_ one. She's just not one of those people who spends all their time constantly assessing how they _feel_ about the people around them, okay? Even if she _does_ have an attraction to someone, it usually takes a move on their part for her to realise it. By then, they've already showed their hand, so there's just never really been any need for her to be — well — anxious about it.

 

Which is why her crush on Bellamy Blake is _particularly_ annoying.

 

"I hate him," she grumbles to Monty. They're in the campus cafeteria, both their phones in their hands as new message after new message pops up in the group text in an ongoing discussion about plans for tonight's group hang. She and Bellamy have spent the last five minutes arguing about which bar is better, Alpha or Mecha — an argument that was prematurely cut short by Raven sniping _'does it fuckin matter which bar has better nachos all u 2 ever care about is whether the pool table is free anyway can we all move on w our lives now'._

 

Monty quirks his lips in the closest thing to a smirk she's ever seen him wear. "You hate that you like him."

 

"Shut up."

 

"What?" Monty protests mildly. "It's true."

 

"I know, but it's still _annoying,_ " Clarke says stubbornly, clicking her phone display off once it's been over a minute and Bellamy still hasn't popped back into the group text. He's probably gone back to work. "Fuck, this is so _inconvenient._ Why can't I like _anyone_ else? Literally _anyone._ Like, why can't I like that guy?"

 

Monty follows the direction of her haphazardly extended thumb, brows raised. "That's a professor."

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, pointing vaguely in another direction. "Fine, why can't I like _that_ person?"

 

This time, Monty gives her a weird look. "That's Maya."

 

"So?"

 

"She's… straight."

 

Exasperated, Clarke throws her hands up in the air. "Don't I have _enough_ problems without having to worry about _straight people_?"

 

Monty pauses, his expression thoughtful. "That's pretty good. Did you just come up with that?"

 

Clarke shakes her head as they stand, getting ready to head to their next class. "Nah, used it on Twitter last week. Could go on a T-shirt, right?"

 

"Maybe a coffee mug," Monty agrees, gathering up his bag.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**princessgriffs**

we love beer yes we do  **@ravenreYASSS @allmillernofiller**

[2 photos attached]

 

 **_smolnty_** _,_ **_papasmurph_ ** _and 12 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_ravenreYASSS_ ** _and_ **_hellsbellsblake_ ** _retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** Posting art without credit to the creator? That's plagiarism, you know.

 

 **princessgriffs:** PICS TAKEN BY WHINY ASS @hellsbellsblake there are u happy now

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** Ecstatic.

 

 

 

**unculturedbi**

"plagiarism" gODDD he's such a NERD I HATE?????

 

 **_wellswellswells_ ** _liked your Tweet_

 

 **wellswellswells:** You hate that you like such a Nerd

 

 **unculturedbi:** 1800didiask

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Before."

 

"After."

 

" _Before._ "

 

" _After._ "

 

" _Before,_ you uncultured swine!"

 

Bellamy leads the way into the kitchen, ruffling his hair with a rough hand. "You're calling _me_ uncultured? _Me,_ really? I'm not the one pouring cereal into milk and splashing that shit everywhere."

 

"You don't pour _that_ much milk into the bowl," she argues heatedly, veering off towards the fridge as he heads towards the cupboards. "You pour just enough for cereal. Like, just the lower third of the bowl. Up to an _un-splashable_ height."

 

Bellamy plucks a box of Honey Nut Cheerios out of the cupboard, his face all scrunched in repulsion. "And then only the _bottom_ of the cereal heap gets soaked in milk."

 

"Exactly!" Clarke brings the milk over, nudging the fridge door closed with her foot as he sets two clean bowls on the counter. "You eat from the _bottom,_ like a _person._ And then the rest of your cereal stays dry until you _want_ it to get dunked."

 

Bellamy shakes his head, pouring cereal into a bowl as she starts pouring milk into another. "What's the point of eating cereal if you don't run milk all over it?"

 

"What's the point of making cereal crunchy if you're just gonna turn it all soggy?" she retorts, sliding the milk over as he slides the cereal box over. "It's cereal with milk, Bellamy. Not milk with cereal. Main dish cereal, accessory milk."

 

"Cereal was made to be broken down by milk," Bellamy argues, taking the milk carton over to the fridge once he's done. "Can't believe you're gonna deny it its natural destiny like this."

 

"Can't believe you've been eating cereal _wrong_ all these years," Clarke says, stretching up to replace the cereal box in its proper cupboard.

 

"Natural destiny," Bellamy repeats, grabbing two spoons and pointing one at her. "Natural destiny trumps personal opinion."

 

She rolls her eyes, impatiently swiping the spoon he's got extended towards her out of his grip. "Could you _be_ any more dramatic?"

 

"Could you _be_ any more wrong?" he shoots back, grabbing his bowl of cereal to head out of the kitchen.

 

"Just you wait, Blake," she calls after him, hot on his heels as she yanks her phone out of her pocket, pulling up Twitter as she goes. "I'm about to prove your wrong ass even _wronger_ than it is now."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**princessgriffs**

everyone settle sth for me and **@hellsbellsblake** \-- milk BEFORE or AFTER cereal???

**POLL**

**Option 1. before, ofc! — 27%**

**Option 2. after. like an animal — 73%**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_** _,_ **_mcharper_ ** _and 37 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_hellsbellsblake_ ** _retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** um who tf pours it BEFORE ew

 

 **smolnty:** way to keep the options completely unbiased

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** The people have spoken.

 

 **princessgriffs:** tHE PEOPLE ARE WRONG

 

 

 

**unculturedbi**

cant believe someone can be this Wrong and Attractive at the same time? smdh

 

 **wellswellswells:** … But he's not wrong?

 

 **unculturedbi:** … educate yourself

 

 

* * *

 

 

Objectively speaking, it would probably be a lot easier to just _tell_ the object of one's affection how one feels.

 

The thing is, she and Bellamy have kind of a weird relationship.

 

She's not just saying that to be defensive, either. They really _do_ have a weird relationship. They argue constantly, but they're also the first person each other goes to when they need to talk about something. They hug sometimes (all their friends do), and they hip check each other sometimes when they're in the middle of a heated game of pool, but they don't do any of the really _flirty_ shit, like touch each other's arms or brush hair out of each other's faces or whatever. They talk really, _really_ candidly about _everything,_ from dumb movie franchises to deep fears and insecurities to future career goals. (For some inexplicable reason, the one topic they _don't_ ever talk about is romantic relationships — the sole, awkward exception to the rule.)

 

Despite everything, she feels a keen physical attraction to him that she's never felt with Monty or Jasper. (She's certainly never gotten lost in Monty's eyes, or attempted to count the freckles on Jasper's nose.) There's a deep emotional understanding there too, one that she's never shared with Raven or Miller. There's none of the pure _kinship_ she feels with Wells either, who is arguably the only other person she's ever been this close to.

 

She's tried several times to compare her relationship with Bellamy to her past romances in an effort to quantify it, but even then, it always feels like an impossible endeavour. It's too _different_ to begin with. With Finn or Lexa, there was none of the plain _openness_ that there is with Bellamy — that strangely unfamiliar yet completely comfortable sensation of just _being_ in his presence, without having to be mindful to act a certain way or phrase things just so. It's the first time she's truly been able to be her unfiltered, unaltered self with anyone.

 

Most of the time, she gets the feeling that it's the same for Bellamy. That he doesn't put on a front for her, either. That with her, he's always one hundred percent _himself._

 

Which is why her feelings for him are a real fucking _problem._

 

Even if they don't exactly talk about it, they've known each other long enough to understand each other's romantic histories and styles and patterns. She's seen the way he operates on the playing field. He doesn't fuck around toying with people's emotions or testing the waters or whatever. If he's interested in someone, he'll ask them out. If he's interested in _just_ sex from someone, he's pretty clear about that too. Most of the time, they're pretty damn interested in sex from him too. (Who the fuck wouldn't be?)

 

When it comes to dating and sex, Bellamy just _goes_ for it.

 

… So why hasn't he ever gone for her?

 

She's fumbled through a few hazy possibilities in her head, usually when it's late at night and usually after consumption of some kind of alcohol. Maybe he doesn't find her physically attractive. (Raven has flatly told her that this doesn't even count as a concept, let alone a possibility.) When he moved out of the flat he'd shared with Miller for two years, she wondered if he might already be seeing someone but keeping it private from the rest of the group. And then she started spending more time at his new place, and never picked up on anything to suggest a secret significant other, leading her to strike off that theory.

 

One time she realises that it's been a few months since his last hook-up, and she thinks maybe he's sworn off dating for some reason or other. But then she spots his phone lying unlocked on the couch one day, and the Tinder app is still right there on the bottom left of the page — as if a sudden vow of abstinence on Bellamy Blake's part wasn't unlikely enough. (To be fair, she's been hopelessly spiralling further and further into this dumb crush for months now, and she still hasn't deleted the Tinder app off her own phone either.)

 

At a certain point, she just has to accept that as much as she oscillates between fighting the desire to hand-write Bellamy love sonnets on perfumed paper and fighting the urge to climb him like a tree, he just doesn't feel the same way for her.

 

She's lucked out for the last twenty-two years, but this time, there's no escaping it. There's a first time for everything, and apparently, the universe has decided that her first experience with unrequited affection should fuck up her relationship with her sort-of best frenemy.

 

It has to pass _sometime,_ she tells herself. Nothing lasts forever, _especially_ not stupid crushes.

 

In the meantime, she'll settle for hanging out at his place under the pretext of leeching off his extensive documentary collection and his (slightly less extensive) junk food stores.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**princessgriffs**

OK BUT WHO DREW THE MF DICKS???!?!? #AmericanVandal

 

 **_mcharper_** _,_ **_jordanjjordan_** _and 9 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_hellsbellsblake_ ** _retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **papasmurph:** maybe the real dicks were the friends we made along the way

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** are u comin home tonight or are u busy investigating dicks

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** She's too busy yelling at the TV to respond

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** cool make sure to tuck her in then gn

 

 **princessgriffs:** WAIT NO IM COMING BACK (one more episode)

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** Damn. Had a really good blanket waiting for you.

 

 

 

**unculturedbi**

could be Investigating actual nonfictional dick right now but

the only one i'm interested in isn't interested in me back…... rip

 

 **_smolnty_ ** _liked your Tweet_

 

 **wellswellswells:** Should I be concerned???

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** gross. im goin to bed

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke squints suspiciously, her narrowed gaze darting between the two people seated across from her. "This is an intervention, isn't it."

 

Monty shifts in his seat. "It's more of a _check-in_ session, if you will."

 

"A 'check-in session' with the only two people in the group who happen to know that I have a crush on Bellamy," she says skeptically.

 

"We just think it would be good for you to talk about it," Monty says, both hands held up in a placating gesture. "You know, _openly._ Instead of just ranting on your private Twitter account twelve times a day."

 

"What the fuck is wrong with ranting on my private Twitter account," she mutters defensively, glancing at Raven.

 

The brunette merely shrugs. "Don't look at me. I'm just here because Monty said drinks are on him."

 

Monty's head snaps round in alarm. "I said the _first_ drink's on me! The _first_ round."

 

"Guys, I don't want to talk about this," Clarke says firmly, with a shake of her head. "Really. There's no point."

 

One hour, nine beers and four Long Island Iced Teas later, the three of them are practically slumped over the table, Monty's cheeks flushed beet red and a cocktail umbrella tucked behind Raven's ear.

 

"I mean, it's not like I _want_ to like him," Clarke slurs, waving her drink about so the remains of her Long Island slosh about dangerously in the glass. "I mean, honestly? _Honestly,_ you guys? Bellamy— Bellamy's kind of a _dick,_ you guys."

 

Raven groans. "Not this shit again."

 

"Not _that_ kind of dick," protests Clarke. "I mean like a _regular_ dick. Like a person who's… a dick."

 

"I don't think that's the scientific definition of a _regular_ dick," Monty muses aloud.

 

Clarke slams her empty glass onto the table, roughly pushing her hair out of her face with her free hand. "We've spent all this time together, and he _still_ hasn't asked me out." She pauses, her face scrunching in sudden dismay. "Why won't he ask me out?"

 

Monty pauses, but Raven clicks her tongue loudly. "Are you for real?" she demands. "Why won't _you_ ask _him_ out?"

 

Clarke blinks at her hazily. "Because," she says, pausing to hiccup, "it doesn't fit our _individual pattern._ Bellamy is the kind of person to asks people out. I'm" — another hiccup — "I'm people that gets asked out."

 

Monty sways a little, clearly putting in some effort in trying to focus on her face. "Maybe he's scared."

 

Clarke scoffs. "Bellamy's not scared of _anything,_ " she declares, lurching sideways dangerously.

 

Raven laughs, sharp and dry, but Monty's face remains serious.

 

"Everyone's scared of something," is all he says — and then he turns sideways, slides out of the booth, stumbles over to the trash bin sitting in the corner a few feet away, and promptly throws up into it.

 

 

* * *

 

**princessgriffs**

no offense but long isnlad makes best ice tea fr srlsy

 

 **_mcharper_** _,_ **_allmillernofiller_** _and 9 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_ravenreYASSS_ ** _retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **allmillernofiller:** go drunk you're home

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** Hahaha. Need a ride?

 

 **princessgriffs:** nah we got an ubre its k

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** YEAH SHE NEEDS A RIDE

 

 **princessgriffs:** no offense but shut up raven

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** Okay. Drink some water and get to bed.

 

 **princessgriffs:** aye aey capn,!

 

 

 

**unculturedbi**

nooffense but raven needs to stpo outing me

 

 **ravenreYASSS:** (contd) A RIDE ON HIS DICKKKKKKKK

 

 **wellswellswells:** LMAO

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke collapses into bed face first, not even bothering to take her jeans off. God, it's been a while since she's been _this_ good and drunk.

 

Her phone buzzes against her butt, wedged tight in the back pocket of her jeans. Groaning into her pillow, she reaches back to extricate it from its spot, lifting her head slightly to squint at the too bright screen.

 

 

 

> [1 new text message]
> 
>  
> 
> **Bellamy:** You get home okay?

 

Gathering her strength, she rolls over onto her back, grunting with the colossal effort of heaving her body around. Holding the phone up as far above her as she can without the words melting into a luminescent blur, she starts to type.

 

 

 

> **Clarke:** yeahm ok. gonna sleep gniht
> 
>  
> 
> **Bellamy:** Good. Drink some water and get some rest. Night.

 

Her arm drops to her side, her phone thudding flat onto the pillow next to hers as her eyes slide shut. She breathes in deep, feeling the air swirl about in her lungs before pushing it out in a cathartic exhale. She does it again, and again.

 

Peeling her eyes open, she lifts the phone to her face again, pulling up Twitter with a couple quick swipes and taking a couple attempts to tap on the 'New Tweet' button. She doesn't bother to check which profile she's on, confident that she's still logged on to her private account from her last use of the app in the Uber home.

 

 _'no offense but bellmy blake should date m e,'_ she types through bleary eyes, scrunched up in defense against the brightness of the screen. Without a second glance, she hits send and drops her phone again, letting her eyes fall shut again so she slips seamlessly into the comforting nothingness of slumber.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There's this really weird thing about waking up after consuming copious amounts of alcohol. It's kind of like walking underwater. Or, rather, it _feels_ like everything around you is moving _as if_ you're walking — the physical, full-body sensation of a kaleidoscope in slow-motion — but your limbs aren't actually doing anything.

 

That's how the world swims into view now. Only this time, she actually _is_ moving.

 

Or, more accurately, _vibrating._ (Well. The side of her face is, at least.)

 

"Fuck," she mutters through dry lips, her heavy eyelids blinking themselves open. Her phone has somehow worked its way over onto her pillow in the night, and it's currently buzzing up a fucking _storm_ against her cheekbone — one that her alcohol-soaked senses are very much objecting to right now.

 

" _What,_ " she mutters, snatching the phone up to peer at it in acute annoyance.

 

Jesus Christ. She's got nine missed calls, thirty-four text messages, and _seventy-eight Twitter notifications._ How is that even _possible?!_ The most action she's ever gotten on that site is fifty-two notes on a tweet, and that was when she'd posted a picture from her birthday last year. Everyone's obligated to like birthday posts on social media.

 

The thought of the missed calls and texts gets shoved aside in her bewilderment, and she clicks on the little blue square.

 

 **_mayavievalavida_** _,_ **_sterlingsilver_ ** _and 49 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_jordanjjordan_** _,_ **_foxes47_ ** _and 10 others retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **_mcharper_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ OHMYGODDDDHSDKJFHKS **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_papasmurph_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ big ass Mood

 

 **_allmillernofiller_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ we been knew sis

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ UMMMmmMMm >???! MY PARENTS **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ UNFOLLOW ME NOW THIS IS GONNA BE THE ONLY THING I TWEET ABOUT FOR THE NEXT WEEK **@hellsbellsblake**

 

And, along with about twelve other notifications, the tweet in question stares right back at her.

 

**princessgriffs**

no offense but bellmy blake should date m e

 

No.

 

No, no, _no._

 

With a trembling thumb, she taps on her profile picture in the corner, even though the icon staring back at her tells her what she already needs to know.

 

_She's in the wrong damn account._

 

"Oh, fuck," she says aloud. And then, just for good measure she adds, "Oh, _fuck._ "

 

With her heart now hammering a mile a minute in her chest, she exits out of the app and checks her other alerts.

 

The nine missed calls are mostly Raven and Monty, with one from Wells and Jasper each. Already dreading the worst, she clicks on her messages icon next.

 

She's got fifteen texts from Raven and ten from Monty, as well as several others from Wells and the group chat (mostly from Jasper and Miller).

 

It hasn't escaped her notice that there's only one person whose name she hasn't yet seen in any of her dozens upon dozens of notifications.

 

Grimacing, she pulls up her phone app and calls Raven, who picks up on the second ring.

 

" _Finally,_ " the other girl barks in lieu of a greeting. "I've been calling all morning! Where the hell were you?"

 

Groggily, she remembers why her roommate isn't around to berate her in person — somewhere between rounds four and five, Raven had mentioned getting up early the next day to put in a few hours of overtime at the lab.

 

"The only place anyone should be after the night we just had," she says dryly, throwing a hand over her eyes. She hadn't bothered to draw the curtains last night, leaving sunlight streaming freely into her room and drenching everything in a bright golden glow. "How bad is it?"

 

Raven starts to say something, but then she stops, clicking her tongue in annoyance. "Hang on, Monty's calling. Lemme put you guys on three-way."

 

A couple seconds and a distant beep later, Monty's voice drifts into the connection. "Clarke?"

 

She feels a slight rush of gratitude for his tone, _significantly_ lower in volume than Raven's. "I'm here." She pauses, pulling her hand away from her eyes. "For now, at least. Until the earth takes pity on me and opens up to swallow me whole."

 

"Jesus Christ," Raven says. "No time for _wallowing,_ woman. We need a strategy. What are you gonna do?"

 

"How much is a plane ticket to Timbuktu?" she snaps back, suddenly overwhelmed with anxious irritation. "Look, I don't _know._ Full disclosure, I'm still a little bit drunk, all right?"

 

"Maybe he didn't see it," Monty offers, his voice small. "Out of all of us, he's definitely the least frequent Twitter user."

 

Clarke swallows against the scratchy dryness of her throat, her heart thudding particularly hard. "I don't know about that. The number of people that were tagging him..."

 

"Definitely a long shot," Raven agrees when she fails to come up with an ending to her sentence. "You know Jordan quoted that shit seven fucking times? That idiot was clogging up my whole—" She breaks off abruptly at the sound of a polite cough from Monty's end. "Oh. Well. I mean, not to rub it in or anything but— yeah, you get the point."

 

"I get the point," Clarke confirms dejectedly, sinking back into her pillow. "Scale of one to ten, how dumb is it if I just delete the tweet and pretend nothing ever happened?"

 

"Nine," Monty says, at the exact same time Raven says, "There's no number anywhere near big enough to denote how colossally dumb that would be.""

 

Monty makes a dainty little _'ahem'_ sound. "This probably isn't the time, but... I just feel like I should point out who warned you about the dangers of habitually ranting on your private Twitter account."

 

Clarke sits up then, impatiently pushing her hair out of her face. "Really, guys? Could you both _possibly_ be _any_ less helpful than— hello? _Hello?_ "

 

Stunned, she pulls the phone away from her ear, staring at the empty battery sign on the otherwise blacked out screen.

 

"Perfect," she mutters darkly. "Just fucking pe—"

 

She looks up at the faint sound echoing through the apartment. It almost sounds like—

 

"Oh, shit," she says, scrambling out of bed when the knocking starts up again. Raven orders all sorts of stuff from all over the Internet, and she _hates_ it when she misses delivery and has to run down to the post office to pick up her packages.

 

"Coming," Clarke calls as she hurries down the hallway, wincing slightly at the dull pang rippling through her head at her own raised volume. Thankfully, the knocking stops almost instantly, and she almost wants to cry with relief as she reaches the door, pulling it open to see—

 

"Hey," Bellamy says, blinking down at her. His gaze runs over her dishevelled appearance, quickly taking in her rumpled hair and last night's jeans before returning to her face. He holds up a large paper bag. "I brought breakfast." His brow quirks upwards, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smirk. "Thought you could use the carbs after your trip to Long Island."

 

"Dick," she says automatically, rolling her eyes to hide the surging wave of nerves. He's acting normal enough. Maybe— maybe he really _hasn't_ seen The Tweet? Shoving the thought aside, she steps back, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

 

He peers about the apartment as he walks in, following her into the kitchen. "Raven's not home?" he asks, setting the large bag on the table. She very much hopes it's waffles. It certainly _smells_ like waffles.

 

"At work," she says, starting the coffeemaker up. "She'll be a few hours. Do me a favour, pass the milk?"

 

He fetches the carton from the fridge, bringing it to her with a teasing smile. "You want me to pour it in for you _before_ the coffee, or—"

 

"Okay, okay," she says, grinning despite herself as she takes the milk from him, turning away to finish making the coffee. "Point made, all right?"

 

He shrugs, not moving back to the kitchen table like she expects him to. "Hey, you're the one who ran the poll."

 

"On _Twitter,_ " she argues, pouring two mugs of steaming coffee. "Hardly a beacon of _accuracy._ "

 

He clears his throat, still watching closely as she sets the decanter aside and reaches for the milk. "I don't know. I'd like to think it's accurate about _some_ things."

 

She scoffs lightly, adding a splash of milk to her coffee and leaving his black — the way he likes it. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

 

"Like maybe... drunk declarations of love?"

 

She nearly drops the milk.

 

Considering there's no clock in the kitchen, it's not actually _possible_ — but she can practically _feel_ the seconds ticking past in throbs, pulsing rhythmically against the insides of her skill.

 

"Uh," she says. Or at least she _thinks_ she does.

 

Options, _options._

 

Okay. Option one. Laugh it off as a joke. But then she'd have to explain _why_ he had even come up as a candidate in that scenario, even as a gag one, and — well, _no._

 

Option two. Claim a hacking. But since Raven hadn't retweeted it or made any sort of splash about The Tweet on her own account, it didn't pass off for a very credible prank. (It's common knowledge that Raven likes to take credit for her achievements, big or small. If she's responsible for something, she makes damn sure everybody knows it.)

 

Option three. Bolt from the kitchen and jump straight out the window of her fourth storey apartment with no explanation whatsoever. Has its merits… but overall, an unlikely plan of action.

 

Bellamy swallows, still holding his ground. "What did that mean, Clarke?"

 

There's a challenging lift to his brow, as there always is whenever they argue — and yet, there's an unfamiliar slant to his mouth, a tenseness wrought all throughout the line of his jaw. Come to think of it, there's a strange lilt to his voice, too, the end of his question stumbling slightly upwards in a cadence completely unlike Bellamy's characteristically confident tone.

 

On second thought — why is he even _asking_ her this? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to laugh it off as a joke? Repost her dumb tweet along with a snarky comment of his own, instead of bringing fresh waffles right to her door?

 

 _Everyone's scared of something,_ she recalls suddenly, the words stark in her mind.

 

Slowly, she sets the milk down, turning to face him.

 

"I guess," she says steadily, her brain racing to find the right words, "I guess it means… that you should totally date me." She pauses, her gaze lifting cautiously from the collar of his shirt to his eyes. "I mean… no offense."

 

The ensuing silence lasts only about two seconds, but she _swears_ that in that small span of time, her heart manages to squeeze in about twelve breakneck beats.

 

Finally, Bellamy draws a breath — a little shaky, but sure.

 

"In that case," he says, one hand reaching out to take hers. "No offense, but you should let me kiss you right now."

 

She's already grinning before her lagging senses can even register the words properly. "Really?"

 

His free hand comes up to cup her face, curving warmly around her jaw and neck. "Really," he says through his own smile, leaning in closer until—

 

"Whoa!" she cries, jumping sharply out of his grasp. "No, no, no, I can't— I mean, not that I _can't_ ," she says quickly at his crestfallen expression. "I want to, I _very_ much want to, I just—"

 

She's literally _just_ rolled out of bed, still in last night's clothes, probably with mascara smudged all over her face to boot. This is definitely _not_ what she'd envisioned herself looking like for her first kiss with Bellamy Blake.

 

Impulsively, she reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing reassuringly. "Give me two minutes, okay?" she asks, releasing his hand to hurry out of the kitchen. "I'll be right back!"

 

A thorough tooth-brushing, a quick change of clothes and a hasty once-over with a makeup wipe later, she's charging back into the kitchen and right up to him, grabbing his face in both hands and yanking him down to her before he can so much as blink.

 

"You're still wrong about the milk though," she informs him once they break apart for air, her arms hooked around his neck. "And, like, a million other things."

 

"Or, we can just ask Twitter to prove me right," he suggests, both arms banding tighter around her waist to draw her closer. "You know. Again."

 

"Arrogant prick."

 

"Stubborn mule."

 

She grins, practically bursting at the seams with sheer happiness. "You love it." She presses up to kiss him again, but then she pulls back after a beat, frowning in confusion. "Wait a minute. I didn't say anything about love."

 

Bellamy lowers his head, nuzzling at her jaw. "Huh?"

 

She wills herself not to get distracted by his _(very_ distracting) ministrations. "You called my tweet a 'drunk declaration of love'? I didn't say anything about love."

 

To her surprise, his skin grows hot under her touch, flushing with warmth all over. Carefully, he pulls back, and clears his throat. "Well. Maybe _I'm_ saying it."

 

She's actually a little dizzy now, and it's definitely _not_ from the hangover.

 

"No offense," she teases, hardly able to speak through her beaming grin, "but you should just admit you're in love with—"

 

"Shut up," he says, his smile meeting hers.

 

 

* * *

 

**princessgriffs**

update: bellamy blake is dating me

 

 **_anyasmoodswing_ ** _,_ **_mylestogo_ ** _, and 59 others liked your Tweet_

 

 **_hellsbellsblake, mcharper_ ** _and 15 others retweeted your Tweet_

 

 **_ravenreYASSS_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ about fkin tIME

 

 **_smolnty_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ at least you're on the right account this time

 

 **mayavievalavida:** congrats u two! **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_allmillernofiller_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ i'm not cryin… it's just rainin on my face

 

 **papasmurph:** congratulations on taking a hundred years. glad my grandchildren lived to see it

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ GAKJDHSKJFHSKJ **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ IM READY **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ FRIGGING LARGE POPCORN **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ DAMN SLURPLY DAMMIT **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 **_jordanjjordan_ ** _quoted your Tweet and said:_ DONT TOUCH ME DONT BREATHE IN MY DIRECTION THIS IS IT!!!!!! **@hellsbellsblake**

 

 

 

**unculturedbi**

no offense but my boyfriend needs to stop liking/rting all our friends'

tweets. he's encouraging jasper & it's his fault if j blows a gasket

 

 **_hellsbellsblake_ ** _and_ **_wellswellswells_ ** _liked your Tweet_

 

 **hellsbellsblake:** No

 

 **wellswellswells: @hellsbellsblake** Pro tip - scroll back to June for a thread Clarke made about a recurring dream she had involving you and body shots

 

 **hellsbellsblake: @wellswellswells** Interestinggg

 

 **unculturedbi: @wellswellswells** **@hellsbellsblake** BLOCKT

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? feelings? some snacks? a condom? 
> 
> also no offense but you should totally watch american vandal if you haven't
> 
> i'm chillin' [on tumblr](http://mellamymake.tumblr.com)


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